


Hug

by freckledandspectacled



Series: Prompt List #1 [19]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Enemies to Lovers, Head Injury, Hugs, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, Love, Love/Hate, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-07 02:24:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13424730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freckledandspectacled/pseuds/freckledandspectacled
Summary: 37. “You look like you need a hug”





	Hug

**Author's Note:**

> Kid!Nygmobblepot (among other things) since at first I couldn’t imagine a scenario where’d they say this to one another (except as children) and then was able to imagine a series of several times they might.

“You look like you need a hug,” a small voice says, interrupting Oswald’s solitude. Oswald looks down, finding a small boy— who can’t be older than seven— staring up at him.

“I don’t,” Oswald says, sniffling and wiping under his eyes. He has no idea how the kid got in. Oswald had picked the lock on this supply closet and then locked it behind him; this was where he always spent recess when the torment became too much. Sixth grade had been hell so far, but soon he’d be in middle school, and things would be better there. His mother had promised.

“Hugs make you feel better,” the kid tries again, staring earnestly up at him from behind round glasses, brown eyes wide and innocent. 

“How’d you get in here?” Oswald asks. The kid puts his plain, brown paper bag next to Oswald and then sits beside him. Then, to Oswald’s astonishment, he pulls a lock-picking kit free from inside. It’s a nice set, one Oswald has been saving to get for months now. 

“I picked the lock,” the kid says, as if that wasn’t obvious, putting the kit back in the bag and pulling out a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. “I always eat lunch in here.”

“I’ve never seen you here,” Oswald points out. 

“They switched my lunch period ‘cause I got in a fight,” the kid says, taking a bite out of his sandwich. Mouth full, he asks Oswald, “Do you want some?”

“No, thank you,” Oswald says. He’ll get a free school lunch later. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Eddie,” the kid says, carefully swallowing before answering. 

“My name is Oswald Cobblepot. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Eddie giggles in response. “What?”

“I like how you talk,” Eddie says. “Like they do in books, and old movies. Do you read a lot?”

“I enjoy books about birds,” Oswald tells him, pausing for a moment. “And vampires.”

“I know all about birds!” Eddie exclaims, waving his hands excitedly. “You know, you look kinda like a—”

“A penguin?” Oswald deadpans. Eddie gasps comically, and Oswald can see he’s missing a tooth. 

“How’d you know what I was gonna say?” he whispers, eyes wide with wonder as he leans closer to the older boy.

“I get that comparison a lot,” Oswald explains. 

“What kind of bird would I be?” Eddie asks him, a toothy smile playing on his lips. Oswald takes note of his round glasses and recalls his apparent interest in reading. A wide-eyed boy with a bookish personality. It was just too easy. 

“You’re the very stereotype of an owl,” Oswald informs him. Eddie smiles at that and scoots closer, eating more of his sandwich. They talk until the period is over, at which time Oswald tells Eddie to go out first. He’ll lock the door behind them. Before he leaves, Eddie turns and hugs him, going up on his tip-toes to put his arms around Oswald’s shoulders. 

“I hope you feel better,” he says, turning and going out of the door. Oswald doesn’t see him again.

***

“You look like you need a hug,” Edward says, falling into bed beside him. Oswald is still recovering from the injury to his shoulder, but he’s far more inclined to give in to Edward’s suggestions following the fun they had leading up to their dispatching of Mr. Leonard. 

“What gave you that idea?” Oswald asks, as though he had not just been staring wistfully into the distance, thinking of his mother. 

“Hugs make you feel better,” Edward sing-songs, flipping up the covers and getting under them. Something about this is making him nostalgic, but he’s been in his head far too often lately. It’s probably nothing. “It also speeds up the healing process.”

“Then hug away,” Oswald sighs, as if he isn’t starved for it. Edward moves across the bed, putting his hand on the other side of Oswald’s ribs to pull them together in the center of the bed. He moves his thigh over Oswald’s stomach, and rests his head on Oswald’s good shoulder, pushing his forehead against Oswald’s neck. 

“Comfy?” Edward asks, his breath fanning across Oswald’s neck. Oswald swallows thickly.

“Very.”

***

“You look like you need a hug,” Edward sadly intones, the guard closing the visiting room door behind him.

“You have no idea, Ed,” Oswald says, broken and beaten down and so _very_ glad to see him. Edward sits across from him, mindful of the fact that they aren’t actually allowed to touch. 

“They confiscated what I brought you,” Edward says, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Oswald says, “it’s not your fault.”

“I wish there was something more I could do,” Edward says, pressing his fingers into his eyes and looking down.

“Do you still do what I asked of you, before I came here?” Edward’s head snaps up.

“Of _course_ ,” he says. “Lilies, occasional visits.” Oswald smiles.

“Then you’re doing enough,” he assures Edward, reaching out and remembering the handcuff around his right wrist. 

“Oswald,” Edward says, voice lowered, “I’ve been looking at schematics, and I think I know a way you could esc—”

“Hush!” Oswald snaps at him, eyes flicking to the cameras and the door. “Edward, if they overhear, I won’t be able to see you anymore. And then I will have _nothing_. Nothing.” He sits back in his chair, resigned to his fate. Edward frowns and checks his watch, wincing at the time. 

“How long?” Oswald asks, tears threatening to spill from his eyes. 

“Two minutes,” Edward says. “If you want, I could hug you right before I go. They’ll be pulling me out of the room anyways.” Oswald considers the offer. They’ll allow Edward back after a hug, he’s sure of it. Otherwise it wouldn’t be worth the risk. One kind touch after months without is all he wants. 

“Reserve the last thirty seconds for it,” Oswald decides. “Has there been any suspicion on you for…?” He trails off, hyperaware that there are no secrets you can keep in this place. Edward catches his meaning, eyes flashing with something dark. 

“I’m handling it,” he says, glancing at his watch. “However, it might be some time before I can visit again. Forty seconds.”

“Come here,” Oswald says, pushing his chair back with one hand and standing. Edward moves quickly, sliding between Oswald and the table on his left so that Oswald can still hug him with his right arm. Pushing Edward flush against the table allows him to pull his hand close enough to _really_ hug him, despite the cuffs, the only positive touch he’s had since he entered this hellscape. Guards rush in precisely thirty seconds later to peel them apart, Edward telling Oswald to _hang in there_ as they pull him from the room, his long, skinny legs dragging slowly after him through the door. Oswald laughs and lets them take him.

***

“You look like you need a hug,” Edward mocks, cocking a brow at him. Oswald glares, the sight of Edward Nygma making both love and hate churn in his stomach in one acidic, despicable mix. He wants to slit his throat and lick his jugular, to tear him apart and make him scream in ecstasy. The last time Edward came to visit him in Arkham, he hadn’t loved him or hated him at all. (Well, in retrospect, perhaps he’d loved him a little bit.)

“I’d kill you first,” Oswald sneers, his injured face twinging in pain at the movement. 

“I’d rather die than let you touch me, believe me,” Edward spits, slamming a briefcase on the table in front of him. “I’m not here for you, I’m here because I need something from you.”

“What makes you think I’ll help you?” Oswald growls. 

“Because I need you to be the King of Gotham again,” Edward says, flicking up the latches on the briefcase. Oswald’s eyes narrow. 

“What for?”

“I have my reasons,” he says, tone clipped. “But they’re not something I can tell you until you’re on board. I’ll explain them if— and only if— you agree. So, _are you in_?” Oswald lets a slow, predatory smile split his face, feeling the cuts on his nose and cheek pull with the gesture. 

“I’m in. What’s the plan?”

***

“You look like you need a hug,” Oswald gasps, coming back to life in Edward’s arms. Edward wails and clutches him closer, memories of Kristen still flashing in front of his eyes from the vision of Oswald, broken and bleeding, cradled in his arms while he sobbed uselessly and begged him not to die, not to leave him, to _hang in there_. Oswald rediscovers where his arms are, holding Edward in return. He moves until he’s kneeling on the concrete floor, soothing Edward while he inhales shaky breaths and tries to calm himself down. Grundy and Lee are watching them, Lee keeping a steady hand on Grundy’s arm to remind him not to interrupt, despite Edward’s clear distress. Oswald ignores them and kisses Edward’s shaking shoulder, his ear, his hair, hands soothing over his back and shoulders, rubbing them in comfort. He never thought he’d have this again, savoring every moment. Oswald’s hands are in constant motion over Edward, mouth pressing kisses to the side of his face for as long as Edward will allow him, his temple, his nose. He kisses the tears from Edward’s cheeks and tells him _it’s okay, I’m here, it’ll take more than a two-story fall onto concrete to kill me; you off all people should know that._

Edward makes a sound between a sob and a laugh and intercepts a kiss Oswald intended on pressing to his cheek, lips soft and smooth against Oswald’s. Oswald’s eyes widen, noting how Edward’s are closed. There are tears still clinging to his lashes, tears he’d shed over Oswald’s prone body. Oswald blinks, then shuts his eyes, Edward’s lips parting against his. Oswald embraces him, putting everything he has into kissing him now, in case Edward changes his mind later. Edward hums as Oswald slips his tongue past his lips, letting Oswald explore the inside of his mouth. Edward ends the kiss, pulling Oswald into another hug and burying his face into the crook of his shoulder. 

“I’m glad you’re alive,” Edward sobs, voice hoarse and muffled on the side of Oswald’s neck. 

“I’d fall out of a window any time if meant you’d let me kiss you like that,” Oswald jokes, his inability to easily cure Edward of sadness still as frustrating as ever. Edward pulls away, swiping quick fingers under his eyes. 

“Maybe you should just ask me?” Edward suggests, trying to smile. Another tear escapes down his cheek, and Oswald catches it on his thumb. He hesitates. 

“May I kiss you again?” Oswald asks, vision swimming from his head injury, unsure if any of this is even real. 

“You may,” Edward whispers, letting him. If this is a dream, or a coma, (it couldn’t possibly be heaven) Oswald is uninterested in waking. The sound of gunfire breaks him from his reverie. 

“That would be her reinforcements,” Edward says, pulling him to his feet. “Can you walk?”

“I’m walking on air,” Oswald tells him. Edward’s eyes narrow as he leads him along to their getaway vehicle, eyeing him critically.

“Lee, I think the fall broke him,” Edward decides. “He’s never this good-humored.”

“I think you kissed him silly,” Lee posits, unlocking the driver side door. 

“That’s your professional diagnosis?” Edward scoffs. 

“That, and he most definitely has a concussion, yeah.”

“Edward,” Oswald says, letting himself be shepherded into the back seat, “did you go to Hilltop Elementary?” Edward freezes halfway through buckling Oswald’s seatbelt for him and then finishes, quickly doing his own as Lee takes off. 

“Yes, I did. Why?” Oswald’s eyes widen. 

“Oh, you’re so cute, Eddie. _Adorable_. And so small… When did you get so much taller than me? You were so small and cute…” 

“Okie dokie,” Edward says, interrupting his nonsensical slurring. “Let’s just be quiet now and get back to the Narrows, shall we?”

“If you were a bird you’d be an owl,” Oswald tells him, hugging him urgently despite the pull of his seatbelt. Edward freezes. 

“You’re the same Penguin,” Edward whispers, the realization finally coming over him. 

“I’ve always been Penguin,” Oswald tells him, kissing his cheek. “How many kids do you think had that nickname in school, bird-brain?”

“Now you’re just being rude,” Edward says, kissing his forehead affectionately. “I’ll forgive you, due to the fact that you have a head injury and that you’re probably concussed. You know, I’ve actually thought about that conversation a lot since then, and while owls are often portrayed in pop-culture and mythology as being the wisest of the birds, they are actually _rather_ stupid, comparatively. In fact, the most intelligent birds are found in the corvid family—”

Edward begins an extensive infodump, and Oswald falls asleep comfortably beside him. There will be no lack of hugs for either from now on. 


End file.
